Strangeways
by momothelemur
Summary: Music and anger are Violet's only constants in a house where nothing changes but everything is different. Violet can't bring herself to forgive, and Tate won't let her forget. M for Language.
1. Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any lyrical content in the story. Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, and Steven Morrissey and Johnny Marr are the respective owners.

* * *

**A/N: Plot bunny that nibbled until I wrote it. A series of very short chapters linked together by fantastic band The Smiths (the lead singer of whom, to quote our very own Violet, is "cool and pissy and he hates everyone and everything.") Some lyrics may be taken out of context to fit with the theme of the chapter. All of my other fics are on hiatus but I've become absolutely consumed by AHS and Violate so had to write this. There are twelve chapters in all, all written and just in need of polishing. I'm new to the fandom so forgive any mistakes. I hope you enjoy and it'd be lovely if you could review :)**

**M RATING FOR LANGUAGE**

* * *

_Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now_

Violet lies halfway down the bed, her legs dangling off the end. She hasn't done this in awhile, not since Adelaide had hidden under there and grabbed at her ankles. But now she reasons that she has nothing to fear, not since she turned into the thing that goes bump in the night.

She takes long, slow drags from her cigarettes and watches the smoke linger in the air above her face. It drifts around, having nowhere else to go. Her iPod is on full blast and the doors and windows are firmly shut; it was a preemptive move, stemming from the fact that she had known that once she lay down she would never want to get back up, even when her mother or Moira inevitably shouted at her to turn it down.

"_…and heaven knows I'm miserable now…_" Morrissey croons.

"Right there with you," Violet mutters, saluting the iPod dock with her cigarette.

She remembers sitting in this room with Tate, so long ago, comparing their scars with The Smiths blaring out in the background. She was such a fucking cliché, the archetype of the depressed teenager, and had been right up until the night she had thrown handfuls of pills down her throat. Although in fairness that had less to do with depression and more to do with finding out her boyfriend was a mass-murdering ghost. Those kinds of discoveries really fuck with people's heads. There had been worse discoveries to come, of course, but she wasn't thinking about that today.

"_You've been in the house too long, she said, and I, naturally, fled…_"

Violet glares at this lyric. She knew it had been coming; she has a wide capacity for remembering lyrics and pays more attention to them than anything she had been taught in school since moving to Los Angeles. But still, it kind of felt like the song was mocking her. Of course she's been in the house too long, she can't fucking leave. It takes a tremendous effort to even move beyond a certain part of the garden, although Moira promises her that this will get easier with time. The realisation that this was the only freedom she could aspire to, being able to stand on a little patch of grass, had relegated her to her room for days.

"Are you done listening to your depressing emo shit?"

Violet rolls her eyes. Seems like Hayden is bored and making the rounds. Most of the others in the house have the decency not to materialise in personal spaces. There are two notable exceptions to this, and one of them is standing at the end of her bed. Violet isn't in the mood for a sparring match, though she can't let the woman's astounding lack of musical knowledge go without correction.

"It's not emo, dumbass."

Hayden scoffs. "Whatever. I'm just here to tell you that your boy toy is smashing up the basement again."

"So go stop him." Violet replies, ignoring the involuntary lurch her stomach still does whenever Tate is brought into the conversation. "He's not my problem." _Anymore_, she adds silently.

"He's really upset," Hayden continues, uncovering Violet's sore spot and scratching at it until it bleeds. That she can do this with words alone is almost impressive. "It began when you started playing your music."

Enough.

"Go away," Violet says, and a second later she is alone to consider why it hurts her so much that Tate still thinks of her whenever The Smiths are playing. It sucks for him, really, because they're a great band. She knows how he idolises Kurt Cobain; maybe she should play Nirvana and really get his back up.

The decision lies half-formed in her mind as she listens to the rest of the song.

"_In my life, why do I smile at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye?…_"

This makes Violet smile, not because she relates to it but because of how much she subverts it. If there was someone Violet wanted to kick in the eye then by God she would kick that person in the eye. None of that false-smile bullshit, she would make her feelings clear.

In most cases, at least. There's a young man currently wrecking the basement that she would very much like to kick in the eye, but while she is by no means smiling at him, she can't hurt him either. Not because she doesn't want to (she wants it so much it burns) but because in order to hurt him she would first have to be in the same room as him, and that isn't something she's figured out how to do yet.


	2. Panic

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any lyrical content in the story. Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, and Steven Morrissey and Johnny Marr are the respective owners.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews :)**

* * *

The day that precedes the night when Violet commits suicide again is unremarkable. It's sunny, warm, and she spends most of the morning sunbathing in the garden with her mother and Chad, with whom she has struck up an unusual friendship.

"You're so lucky that you died young," he tells her as he squeezes lotion out of a tube and applies it. "You get to stay pretty forever. I have the beginnings of these lines around my eyes and I hate knowing that no amount of botox will get rid of them."

Violet didn't look so pretty hidden underneath the floorboards, rotting and infested, but she decides against saying this.

"Maybe we should lure a plastic surgeon in here and kill him," Chad muses. He often alludes to murder and Violet is never quite sure if he's joking or not.

"We've got Dr. Montgomery," Vivien reminds him.

Chad scoffs. "Right, and when I want an extra arm sewn on he will be my first port of call."

Vivien and Violet lie in the sun, soaking in its warmth without fear of repercussions. Chad however still believes that his imaginary wrinkles will disappear if he keeps up with his rigorous skincare routine.

"How are things with Ben, Viv?" Chad asks, shifting himself until he's comfortable reclining in his sun lounger.

"Things are…" Vivien hesitates and glances at Violet before talking again, "things are great."

Chad caught the pause. He pushes his sunglasses down his nose so his eyes are visible and looks at Violet.

"Shoo sweetie, Mommy and I have grown up talk," he says, flicking his head in the direction of the house.

Violet hates being told what to do, but if her mom has things she needs to get off her chest then whatever. Better she talks to someone than carry it all around with her, the way Violet does.

"I would have been nineteen if I was alive," Violet mutters as she gathers up her things. "Don't talk to me like I'm a kid."

Chad pouts. "Uh oh, someone's grumpy! Is it time for a nap?"

"Fuck you."

"Violet," Vivien warns, but Chad blows a kiss her way before pushing up his sunglasses again. "Sorry about her," Violet hears her mother say as she walks back to the house. "I think she's still dealing with everything that happened between her and Tate."

Violet wants to run back and throw a tantrum like the baby Chad treated her as. She wants to scream that her mother is wrong and throw things around for good measure. But what would be the point? It would only prove Vivien right, that Violet is not even close to dealing with the knowledge of who the boy she loves - loved, whatever - really is.

So she does what she has always done whenever she's upset: she slams her bedroom door shut, throws herself onto her bed and blasts out The Smiths on her iPod. It's usually cathartic, hearing someone else sing about the pains of life with beauty and sincerity. Nothing like any of the shitty manufactured pop bands that dominate the radio. Violet wonders if she would have felt more accepted if she lived in the era and place The Smiths did, then concludes that life sucks regardless of if she's in L.A. in 2011 or in England during the 1980s.

Life sucks and death isn't much better in 201...4? 2015? She tries to pay attention to dates but things easily pass her by. She remembers her age but only out of a masochistic sense of _what if_? Time moves differently in death and the pain she feels over Tate is as raw and fresh as if it had been inflicted yesterday. She's determined not to become like the nurses, who repeat in dazed confusion, "look what he did to me…" but she is scared she will never be able to get over it, that she will feel this sad and betrayed and just fucking _angry_ for the rest of eternity.

She drifts in an out of concentration, the songs blurring into one another, until one particular verse catches her ears.

"_Panic on the streets of London…_"

She'd never go to London. The realisation hits her far harder than it should do. It was one of those things that she had never really thought of, despite (or maybe because of) the fact it was so obvious. She would never check out the London Dungeons or Tower Bridge of Buckingham Palace or that huge wheel. She had never particularly wanted to go to London but now that she knew she couldn't, she desired it fiercely.

"_Panic on the streets of Birmingham…_"

She would never go there either. She wasn't sure where Birmingham was or what it was like but she mourned the fact that she would never see it. If she had lived, she might have gone. She might have loved it. She might have met and fallen in love with someone there and lived happily for the rest of her life. It was unlikely, of course, but it felt like the chance had been snatched away from her.

The song lists places Violet doesn't know and will never see, and each name is reminder that her future is lost.

_Leeds. Carlisle. Dublin. Dundee. Humberside._

She doesn't recognise all of those places (and harbours a suspicion that Humberside is made up) and now she never will. Her chest constricts as tears fall down her face and into her hair. The unfairness of death bubbles in her blood until she retrieves the razorblades still hidden in the bathroom and slashes open her veins in an effort to get the pain out of her system. After the initial shock of seeing blood, she cuts again and again with none of the carefulness and precision she had in life.

Ten minutes later she's bleeding out on the bathroom floor. She thinks she sees Tate standing tearfully over her, but doesn't remember it when she wakes up.


	3. Hand In Glove

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any lyrical content in the story. Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, and Steven Morrissey and Johnny Marr are the respective owners.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews, they are appreciated :)**

* * *

When Violet opens her eyes she's back in her room, carefully placed on her bed with a blanket pulled over her. The Smiths are still playing, and it takes her a moment to realize that she can't have been dead that long. She groans and pushes herself into a sitting position. With a heavy feeling in her heart she notices Tate sitting in the chair in the corner, his head in his hands. She's about to tell him to go away when he speaks.

"That's the last time I'll carry your body," he says, though they both know it's a lie. There is nothing he wouldn't do for her. She hates him for his devotion.

"I didn't ask you to," she replies coldly. "Either time."

He lifts his head and she can see his eyes are rimmed red. He looks so different when he cries, vulnerable, and for a second Violet forgets what he really is.

"You didn't lock the door," he tells her. When she stares back, not comprehending, he elaborates. "The first time we met, I told you that if you were trying to kill yourself you might try locking the door."

"I wasn't trying," she says. Faint memories of her shallow breaths accompanying every slash to her skin begin to stir. "Not at first."

It isn't the first time she's seen him after everything fell apart, but it is the first time she hasn't sent him away in three seconds flat. He had managed to leave her alone for about a year, before tearfully appearing at the end of her bed one night. He was there most nights anyway, watching her try to sleep, so it wasn't a complete shock.

"Please, Violet," he had choked out. "I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, I know I fucked up but I love-"

"Go away, Tate," she whispered, cutting off the last thing she wanted to hear.

She had allowed herself to cry that night, safe in the knowledge that he wasn't there watching her prove that she still loved him and hurt because of him. The next few times he appeared though, she threw things and screamed and banished him. He would leave her alone for a few months at a time but he was a persistent son of a bitch. And now he was trying to save her from herself, again.

They sit in silence with only The Smiths bridging the gap between them.

"_No it's not like any other love, this one is different because it's us..._"

Violet hopes Tate isn't listening to the lyrics, but when she glances up he is watching her with a sad smile.

"Turn it off," she instructs, looking away again quickly.

"I like this song," he replies, not moving.

"Tough shit, it's my iPod."

"You turn it off then," he returns.

She doesn't. She hopes he listens to the song and she hope it tears him apart. It isn't a typical love song, just as theirs wasn't a typical relationship. Or maybe it was, in some ways. She loved him and he broke her heart. Details aside, doesn't that describe most teenage relationships?

"_If they dare touch a hair on your head, I'll fight to the last breath…_"

Violet knows he's watching her but she doesn't look at him. There are so many things she wants to say to him but holds back, knowing that if she starts she won't be able to finish and he might take that as an invitation back into her life.

"It's still true," he says, in reference to the lyric. "I know that you hate me, but I will never stop protecting-"

"Go away, Tate," she interrupts, closing her eyes tightly.

When she opens them again, he's gone. A few moments later she hears strangled cries coming from the attic. She turns to volume up as high as it will go and focuses on that rather than the faint noise she can still hear. He's probably scaring Beau. She hope Beau rips him apart.

"_But I know my luck too well, yes I know my luck too well, and I'll probably never see you again…_"

Violet dreams of a world where she would never see Tate again, instead of the one she's stuck in where she will never be able to get away from him. "Go away" works for a short time but it's next to worthless when eternity stretches out in front of her.

Violet hadn't believed in hell before it was too late, and now she was trapped there with the devil himself.


	4. The Boy With The Thorn In His Side

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any lyrical content in the story. Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, and Steven Morrissey and Johnny Marr are the respective owners.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews :)**

* * *

No one in the house talks to Tate. Beau has been hiding from him ever since his outburst in the attic and even the little burnt girls shy away from him. He doesn't mind that so much since they kind of freak him out, even though he should be used to them by now. It's weird thinking that if things had turned out differently (as in, if Lorraine hadn't gone batshit crazy and killed herself and her kids, if he hadn't set Larry on fire, if he was still alive) they would be his stepsisters.

In an effort to become the normal, non-psychopathic guy that Violet deserves he had tried playing tea parties in the basement with the girls before. They told him off for pouring the imaginary tea wrong (how the fuck he had managed that, he didn't know) and complained that he wasn't treating their dollies as real people. He had scoffed at that; these kids were talking to pieces of plastic, and yet he was the crazy one. Go figure. Eventually Travis had joined them, which Tate took as his cue to leave. He doesn't necessarily have a problem with Travis; in fact, he was probably the most decent of Constance's long line of men, but as a general rule Tate avoids anyone to do with his mother.

The Harmon parents go out of their way to avoid him as well. He understands why Vivien does, and is even kind of glad about it because what would he say to her? But it hurts his feelings when Ben ignores him. He likes the guy, plus he's working on this theory where if he's friends with Ben then he could gain Violet's forgiveness more easily. He also thinks that there's a real shot of being cured if he could only talk about his problems without any of the vagueness of his previous sessions. Ben says that psychopaths can't be cured, but Tate thinks he's only saying that so he doesn't have to try.

He stays unseen most of the time. It's his punishment, self-inflicted since Violet won't see him for long enough to punish him herself. Being told to go away every time he tries to talk hurts like hell emotionally, but it isn't much of a punishment. He longs for the day Violet decides to get her revenge, because it means that she's started dealing with their break up and the sooner she deals with it, the sooner she can get over it. He promised he would wait forever if it was needed, but he would rather not. Anytime in the next few years would be good, although he's trying not to rush her.

Sometimes Hayden seeks him out when Travis is too busy playing make believe to fuck her. For awhile Tate took the almost constant stream of abuse she hurled at him because he felt he deserved it. Then he remembered that Violet was the only one who should have the power to abuse him without consequence, and gave Hayden the argument she was seeking. Though it wasn't an argument so much as him shoving a searing fireplace poker through her chest. She left him alone for quite awhile after that.

Most of the time he sits in Violet's room, watching her read complicated books that display her intelligence and make him proud of her, or doodling, or even just looking out of the window. Whatever she does, she captivates him and he could watch her forever. After a quick glance over her shoulder, he gives up the hope that she was doodling his name (though he knew it was a long shot anyway) and felt foolish for ever expecting it in the first place. Even when they were happy she wasn't the type of girl to write _Mrs. Violet Langdon_ over her schoolbooks. The name makes him smile and he still hopes that one day they could get married, or handfasted, or whatever the dead do to show their union. He likes the idea that she would give up her name to take his, not as a sign of his ownership of her but as a sign of her devotion to him. He would take her name if she asked, though. He would do anything for her.

A few months after their last encounter, she's playing The Smiths again. She hasn't listened to them in awhile and she resolutely refuses to play Nirvana (he has seen her quickly skipping their songs whenever they come up onscreen) but it's good to hear them again. He sits unseen by the door, watching her bob her head absently to the beat as she flicks through a book.

"_The boy with the thorn in his side. Behind his hatred there lies a murderous desire for love…_"

They both look up to the iPod at the same time. Tate hates this song, it hits too close to home for him, but if it makes Violet think of him then he will gladly sit through it a thousand times.

"_How can they look into my eyes, and still they don't believe me? How can they hear me say those words, still they don't believe me?_"

Violet was looking into his eyes when he said he was sorry, that he loved her, that she was all he had. It seems impossible that she doesn't believe him when it's the truest thing he has ever said, but then why would she keep him at a distance if she knew it was the truth? He wishes he knew a way to prove he loves her but no one will give him a chance. He could write I Love You on a chalkboard again, but it really didn't end well the last time he tried that.

"_And when you want to live, how do you start? Where do you go? Who do you need to know?_"

Violet changes the song. She closes her eyes for a very long time, her expression unreadable. Then she sighs, opens her eyes and goes back to her book. Tate hates seeing her in pain, but he's glad that she hasn't completely shut down like he had worried she might in the days following her mother's death and the revelations that had ruined everything. No, she still loved him, he was sure of it. He just needed to give her a little space.

He can't make himself get up and leave, and stays unseen by her door for the rest of the day.


	5. What Difference Does It Make?

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any lyrical content in the story. Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, and Steven Morrissey and Johnny Marr are the respective owners.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews :) Extra long chapter, because I felt mean cutting it off at the point I initially planned to. Enjoy!**

* * *

Before Violet knows it, Halloween has rolled around again. She looks forward to this day more than she ever did as a child, because it's freedom incarnate. She can go anywhere she wants and live ("live") without consequences for twenty four precious hours. For her first couple of Halloweens as a ghost, she had planned out activities meticulously, losing her freedom to a strict schedule. She knows better this year though, and while she has a couple of ideas in mind, she fully intends to just enjoy the day.

The house is completely decorated, courtesy of Vivien and Chad teaming up and convincing the very bewildered current owners that the Neighborhood Committee decided ten years ago that Murder House must always be decorated on to do with the extra ticket money it brought the Eternal Darkness Tour. The owners were uncertain, but when they heard 'free of charge' they were all for it. The promise of free stuff overrides any bullshit excuse. They had only moved in a couple of weeks ago but Violet bets they'll be gone by Christmas.

"What are your plans, kiddo?" Ben asks two days before the event as he, Vivien and their children sat around the television.

"Don't really have any," Violet shrugs. "Just going to see what happens, maybe catch a movie. Something normal."

"You need any money?" Vivien asks, and Violet shakes her head.

"I'll just take some from upstairs," she answers, and raises an eyebrow when her parents frown. "What? That's where _you_ were going to get it from. We need money one day a year, it's not like we steal from them all the time."

"Steven and Sheila are nice people," Vivien says, though her scolding is blunted by the way she smiles down at her gurgling baby.

"Exactly," Violet grins. "They'd give it us if we asked. I'm just taking away the part where giving is optional."

Vivien and Ben don't argue. How can they, when Violet is right? Their bank accounts have long since closed and the only way they can get money is if they take from the living. It's only one night a year and it isn't like the living would miss it.

"I'm going to leave Jeffrey with Nora," Vivien says, looking away from her baby with a nervous expression. "Think he'll be okay?"

For the past few Halloweens the Harmon parents had taken the baby and Violet out with them. Although she should hate family gatherings at her age, Violet enjoys being out in the world with her family again. They had gone to restaurants and movies and just generally walked around. This year though, Violet's parents had asked her if she minded if they went out on a date. On the condition that she wouldn't have to look after the baby, she had agreed.

"I don't know how to say this Mom, but he's pretty much as far past "okay" as he can be. You could leave him in the fireplace and he'd still be fine."

"Violet," Vivien says with an expression of distaste. Then she smiles. "I see your point. I guess I just forget. You always worry about your kids."

"Try not to," Violet advises but she smiles as well. "I'm going to bed."

When she gets to her room, Tate is standing nervously by her bed. He looks up as she closes her door, his eyes wide and fearful like a small animal caught in the headlights of a truck that could crush him in a moment.

"What are you doing here?" Violet asks, scanning the room quickly to see if he's messed with anything. Her iPod is playing quietly but apart from that everything seems fine. She looks to him again, waiting for an answer. His lips move for a moment before he can actually get the words out.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me on Halloween night."

He says it so fast that she almost misses it. But when it registers she blinks and laughs, not out of malice but sheer incredulity.

"Are you kidding me?"

She can see him try to regain his composure after the knock back.

"I have tickets for-"

"I don't care," she interrupts. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Get out."

She doesn't mean to say it; she wants him to stay so she can yell at him some more, and without intent behind the banishment he doesn't technically have to go. Telling a ghost to go away only works if you mean it, she learned that to her cost one lonely night. But he leaves anyway, all slumped shoulders and downcast eyes like the dead teenage boy version of a kicked puppy.

Shaking her head at his gall, Violet presses play on her iPod, curious to what he was listening to.

"_For what we have been through, hell and high tide, I think I can rely on you. And yet you start to recoil, heavy words are so lightly thrown, but still I'd leap in front of a flying bullet for you…_"

Violet stands frozen for a moment before knocking the iPod to the floor. She doesn't know if it's broken, but it has at least stopped playing.

"Fuck you," she tells it before storming out.

* * *

Vivien watches Violet stomp down the stairs and hands Jeffrey to her husband.

"Put him to bed?" she asks, nodding to Violet. "I think she needs to talk."

"Good luck," Ben says, taking the baby and making himself scarce before his perpetually hormonal daughter reaches the living room. He may be a psychiatrist but he knows that some things are better left for mothers to talk about.

Violet all but throws herself onto the sofa as Vivien, anticipating her daughter's need to vent, switches off the television.

"Talk to me," she murmurs, moving to sit next to her daughter. She tucks loose strands of Violet's hair behind her ears. She has such a pretty face, it's a shame to hide it.

"He asked me out!" Violet spits, and Vivien's hand freezes. She doesn't need to ask who he is. "Can you believe it? Just…just came right out with it!"

Vivien lowers her hand and draws in a deep breath. To her shame, Violet hadn't thought about how difficult it might be for her mother to talk about Tate; she had just wanted to get her indignation off her chest and Vivien was the first person to come to mind.

"I'm sorry," she says to her mother. "I can talk to Moira about it. Or Chad."

"No, no," Vivien says, holding onto Violet's hand as the younger girl gets up to leave. She takes another deep breath. "I think you should go with him."

Violet blinks. Opens her mouth to speak. Closes it. Blinks again.

"Are you high?" she demands, looking into her mother's eyes for the tell-tale signs.

"Violet-"

"No, seriously Mom, have you been sniffing ether? Why would you be okay with that?"

Too late, Violet realises the question she should have asked was "why would I want to do that?" Vivien gives her a tired, knowing smile.

"Because you're still in love with him," she says. "And I'm scared that you'll never be happy as long as you're hurting."

"Mom-"

"We're here forever, sweetheart," her mother says before Violet can protest. "It's an…inconceivable amount of time but it's only a negative thing if we pass it unhappily. Me and your Dad, we had our problems. In life we didn't want to fix what was broken because we had other, easier options. But when you're trapped together all the time, you learn to work out your issues."

Violet shakes her head. She doesn't understand. "What Tate did to you-"

"Was terrible," Vivien says firmly, squeezing Violet's hand. "And if there was a chance of leaving here I would take you away and make sure you never looked back. But if we dwell on things we can't change then we become prisoners in every sense of the word."

"I don't understand," Violet mutters. "You want me to get back together with him?"

"I want you to be happy," Vivien says, looking beseechingly into the eyes of her confused child. "And I think a stepping stone to that point is you forgiving Tate. After that, maybe you can finally move on from all of your sadness."

Violet shakes her head. Forgiveness feels like a betrayal of her mother, herself and the reasons she methodically lists when she's lonely.

"I've accepted that you'll forgive him one day. It's inevitable," Vivien adds when Violet tries to deny it. "You're both trapped here with unresolved issues."

Violet considers this.

"I don't think I can forgive him," she whispers.

"It won't be easy," Vivien agrees. "But your anger and pain will tear you apart if you let it." She pauses. "He still loves you. Very much. The consensus is that he has changed since we moved in. Obviously I'm reserving judgement there."

Violet's indignant side kicks in. "You've been talking about me?"

Vivien smiles sheepishly. "We were worried. The last time you locked yourself away…"

You were dead. It doesn't need to be said. Violet nods, unable to find her voice.

Vivien strokes her daughter's cheek. "I wish I could protect you. But the best thing I can do for you is stand aside and let you resolve things."

"What if that means we get back together?" Violet asks, unsure where the question comes from. Getting back together with Tate is one of those things she never allows herself to think about, certain if she does it will thaw her anger towards him. Forgiveness is a scary and uncertain path which she doesn't want to travel down.

"If you think he has changed," Vivien begins, pursing her lips and choosing her words very carefully, "and if you're certain he would never hurt you…I guess I would tell you to do what makes you happy, and be there for you when the fallout happens. I won't tell you not to do it, even though I don't-" She stops herself, knowing that if she continued she would in no uncertain terms tell her daughter not to do it. But Violet needs to make her own mistakes before she can grow, no matter how much it hurts Vivien as a mother to watch.

Violet doesn't know whether to thank her mother or curse her. She had been so sure in her hatred of Tate partly because of what he had done to Vivien, but finding out that Vivien encourages forgiveness has confused her. She feels like she's lost an ally.

She's in a daze when she walks back up to her room and when she gets there, a decision has wormed its way into her mind. It's a terrible idea, probably. No, definitely. Definitely a bad idea.

"Tate," she calls, uncertain even as the name leaves her mouth. He materializes instantly, as she had known he would. He's always lurking. She doesn't look at him as she speaks, certain that if she does she will call the whole thing off. "Fine. I'll go out with you on Halloween. It isn't a date and things aren't okay between us."

When she risks a glance again he's so happy it makes her heart ache.

"Vi, I promise-"

"Go away."

She says it to feel like she still has some control over their relationship, to remind him that she still calls the shots. She's afraid that the balance of power has shifted now she has accepted his invitation. After everything, Violet is wary of making herself susceptible to harm again and she's afraid that this is exactly where the path to forgiveness will lead, if she chooses to take it.

In a moment of self-awareness, Violet rolls her eyes. She lives in a haunted house and the things that scares her the most are her feelings. Figures.


	6. You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any lyrical content in the story. Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, and Steven Morrissey and Johnny Marr are the respective owners.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, they make me smile :) This is a chapter where I shamelessly indulge in A) advocating going to screenings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show - I went with a group of friends last Halloween, it was brilliant - B) speculating about the rules for the dead on Halloween and C) provide a little bit of shipping goodness...but not too much, hence the choice of song. Enjoy!**

* * *

After a blissful Halloween day of walking anywhere and everywhere, Violet gets ready for her non-date. It is so much of a non-date that she purposefully wears underwear that does not match her bra. She is nowhere near ready to get back together with Tate, let alone sleep with him again, but it has been a _long_ time since she's had any. She remembers the way she felt when Tate would kiss her, and in the event of that happening she doesn't want to get tempted. Sex is not compatible with the "let's take things slow" vibe that will be the only thing she'll be putting out this evening.

Violet had busted her iPod when she threw it on the floor so that only the Play/Pause button worked. She was stuck with The Smiths, which might once have been a good thing but now only serves to remind her of Tate. She's listening to one song in particular in preparation for the forthcoming night.

"_If you're wondering why all the love that you long for eludes you, and people are rude and cruel to you, I'll tell you why…you just haven't earned it yet, baby, you must suffer and cry for a longer time…_"

She muses over these lyrics as she drags a comb through her hair. She wants Tate to suffer the way he inflicted suffering on basically everyone in his life. She doesn't want the howling from the basement, she wants a quieter pain, a full acknowledgement of everything he has done. Once he's fully remorseful and ready to make amends to everyone he has harmed, Violet will be able to forgive him. And until then she'll keep mismatching her underwear and bra.

At seven there's a knock on her bedroom door. She gathers every scrap of courage she has, rearranges her expression to one of indifference, and opens the door to a waiting Tate. He's dressed in his usual 90s grunge and his hair sticks up slightly after running his fingers through it in, Violet suspects, endless anticipation.

"Hey," he says, nervous already. He holds out a rose for her, red this time. "I know it's lame."

Violet stares at it coldly. "Not a date, remember?"

"Right." Tate withdraws the flower. Then he nods his head in the direction of the speakers and grins. "Subtle song choice."

"I didn't have a song called Stuck With My Fucked Up Ex-Boyfriend," Violet retorts, turning off the iPod and grabbing a jacket. "So I just worked with what I had."

Tate ignores the jibe though Violet knows it takes quite an effort. She wishes she had pre-prepared a list of suitable conversation topics.

Suitable: the weather, the economy, music. Unsuitable: murder, suicide, rape. It's depressing that she has to actively remind herself to avoid talking about such things.

"You look beautiful," Tate says as they leave the house.

"No romantic bullshit tonight," Violet says, paying more attention to her footsteps than to him.

It's strange, even though she left the house this morning she still half expects to be stopped before she leaves. Force of habit, she supposes. She relaxes a fraction when they pass the gates, then tenses up again when it means that she is definitely out on a non-date with the boy who ruined everything. She had been kind of hoping that her mother would come bursting out of the house, screeching that she had changed her mind and now forbids her to go anywhere with Tate. It was a pretty unlikely scenario, evidenced by the way it played out in Violet's mind like a scene from those glossy teen drama shows she hates, but it would have given her more time to get her head together.

She breaks the silence between them, awkward on her part but relaxed on Tate's.

"What's the plan for tonight?"

"It's a surprise," Tate says as they walk down the street. It's an unspoken agreement that they walk as quickly as they can, for now anyway. They don't need to stop and admire their street when they see it everyday.

"No," Violet says, striding through a group of costumed kids who scatter once they realise she isn't even going to try to dodge them. "No secrets."

Tate is about to complain but thinks better of it. "I got us tickets to a showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show." He shrugs. "We don't have to - we can go somewhere else, if you think it's stupid."

But Violet is smiling. "No, that actually sounds kind of cool." Then she frowns. "Kind of optimistic of you to get tickets before I'd even said yes."

Tate shrugs again. He isn't as at ease as he's trying to pretend. "I've been getting tickets for something every Halloween since we broke up. This was the first year I thought you might actually say yes."

Violet finds that surprisingly sweet, despite herself, and is impressed when Tate admits to using the owners' credit cards to order the tickets online. He's getting much better with technology.

For the rest of the night Tate tries incredibly hard to impress her. There are moments when she even forgets the fact that everything is so fucked up and reverts into the frame of mind she was in during the time spent with Tate before her death. Well, almost. She isn't flirting or hoping he will kiss her, though she is sort of hoping he would put his arm around her as they watch the movie. She would have pushed him away, of course, but only after a few seconds. She misses being held.

They end the night on the beach. It takes a lot of convincing for Violet to agree to it but she can't deny that she misses the feel of sand between her toes and being able to look out to the ocean and dream of escape. She knows Tate does too. It holds a pure enchantment entirely different than the magic the house holds.

"If the Undead Breakfast Club show up again, I'm letting them have you," Violet warns as they sit down.

"Yeah, that's probably fair."

Violet doesn't recognize the part of the beach they're on but hopes it's far away from where they spent that first Halloween together. She has a million things she wants to say but can't bring herself to, and since Tate doesn't speak - probably waiting for her to introduce a topic - they sit in silence. Listening to the rush of waves is therapeutic, for Violet at least. It reminds her that there is still beauty in the world, even if she's trapped in a purgatory that will rarely let her see it.

"What did you do today?" Tate asks, watching the waves crest and collapse onto the shore. His eyes are distant, almost hypnotized, but when Violet begins to speak he tears his eyes away from the water and watches her instead.

Violet talks about how she caught a movie with her parents, a truly terrible affair that served to remind her that quality declines as budget increases. After that disappointment, they went for a walk in the park with Jeffrey. Then Ben and his son had a little quality time while Violet went shopping with her mom. Nice, normal family time.

"It sucked," she says, but she's grinning. "It was the same shit we'd do before we moved to California, enforced bonding time. It's stupid that we're stuck together every day of the year except for one, and we still choose to spend that one day together." Her tone loses some of its harshness and with it, her features soften. "But, I don't know, it's kind of nice. It's the one day of the year I get to feel normal."

"Thought you would've hated that," Tate says, watching and listening to her intently like every word is gospel. After all this time she intrigues and surprises him, rarely doing what he expects her to do.

Violet shrugs. "Once, yeah. But my definition of normal has changed…abnormal is my new normal and abnormal is my new normal." She pauses and then laughs. "Does that even make sense or am I just talking bullshit?"

"Little bit of both," Tate teases, and from there on the dynamic shifts.

They talk freely with almost no reservations, musing on life and death and the conspiracy theories surrounding Kurt Cobain's death. It's as though Halloween had removed all boundaries, not just the ones restricting mobility, and they talk until the sun begins to rise.

At its first rays they feel a curious pulling sensation, gentle at first but growing stronger by the second. Time to return to the house. Violet is disappointed; she wants to spend more time like this with Tate, away from the house that forces them into roles Violet isn't sure she wants to fit into anymore. Back at the house she has to abjure Tate, hate him and refuse to see him. Out here by the ocean she is allowed to forget, allowed to treat him without reference to any of his past crimes. But everything ends, and this is a lesson Violet has come to accept.

"What happens if we don't get to the house by the time Halloween ends?" Violet asks, walking almost mechanically with Tate by her side.

"I guess you materialize back there," he replies. "But it's really hard to resist the pull. I don't think even the older ghosts can fight against it. And what's the point, right? You just end up back at the house eventually anyway."

They don't speak as they make their way back. Violet is reluctant to let go of her day spent being normal, while Tate basks in the afterglow of a successful date. He walks her all the way to her bedroom door.

"I had a good time," he tells her, hanging back like he isn't sure how to proceed.

"Me too," Violet says, and before his smile can get any wider she adds, "but one good night doesn't make everything okay. We can't just flip a switch, you know? We have to work on it."

Tate's smile turns sad. "Right. Well I'll see you in the…later morning, I guess," he says, looking at the daylight streaming in through the bedroom windows. "So, uh, sleep well."

Violet thinks he might be angling for a hug or even a kiss goodbye. The most she offers is a smile before closing the door on him.

"You just haven't earned it yet, baby," she whispers as she climbs, aching, into her bed.


	7. Pretty Girls Make Graves

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any lyrical content in the story. Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, and Steven Morrissey and Johnny Marr are the respective owners.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews! :)**

* * *

"Hey, Clockwork Orange."

Tate doesn't look up from the book he's reading, though he knows that Hayden's interruption spells the end of his privacy. He has been enjoying some alone time (like he doesn't have enough of it) in the weeks following Halloween because aside from the occasional conversation with Violet, there still isn't anyone else willing to talk to him. Except, of course, when Hayden wants someone to bully.

"Clockwork Orange wasn't a person," he replies.

Hayden pauses before trying again. "Hey, Looney Tunes."

"Also more of an ensemble effort," Tate tells her, flicking over a page. He hopes that if he appears bored or absorbed in his book, Hayden will leave. But she seems to take it as a personal challenge.

"Well, whatever, you get the general vibe I'm going for." She strolls over and lounges in the chair opposite Tate's. "Whatcha reading?"

Tate closes the book in irritation. The point of sitting in the disused library is that he will remain unbothered, but he had forgotten that when Hayden is bored there is nowhere off limits.

"What do you want?" he asks, knowing the sooner she gets on with it the sooner it will be over. Or the sooner he can kill her again. Whichever comes first.

"Heard you went on a date with Violet."

"What, are we gossiping now?" Tate asks in disgust. "Yeah, we went out on Halloween. Go and write it in your journal and leave me alone."

Hayden purses her lips, changing tactics. "Have you ever actually read _A Clockwork Orange_?" she asks, and continues before he can answer, "It's about this guy who does all these really fucked up things, and then gets therapy and changes for a little bit. Then the therapy is reversed and he's back to his old self." She stares at him with a manic gleam in those already-insane eyes of her. Tate has told her many times to cut back on the eyeliner but she never seems to listen. "Do you see what I'm getting at, Norman Bates?"

Tate doesn't answer, thinking how ignorant she sounds right now. Of course he's read the book. He's watched the movie too, over and over, and Hayden's summary leaves a lot to be desired. It's like she heard a secondhand whispered version of it and picked out the bits that suited her verbal provocation. He could correct her, educate her, have an in-depth discussion on literature…or he could bash her skull in with the ornament on the mantelpiece.

It's only when he's washing the blood off his hands a short while later that it occurs to him that he should stop making murder his go-to option.

* * *

Hayden shows up, unannounced and certainly uninvited, in Violet's room half an hour later. She's covered in dried blood and has the air of mischievous triumph about her. Violet has learned to be cautious of this, because it means she has fucked someone over.

"Your boyfriend just caved my skull in," Hayden announces, far too happily for someone who has just been murdered again.

"He's not my boyfriend," Violet replies without missing a beat, "and you probably deserved it."

That wipes the smile from Hayden's face. She struggles for the words to make the desired impact.

"Didn't you hear me? The boy you're letting back into your life is a Grade A psycho."

"He's not the only one," Violet says. "Go away, Hayden."

The atmosphere is still filled with Hayden's indignation long after she's gone and Violet savors the satisfaction. It should probably bother her that Tate is still murdering people, but in this house slaughtering another ghost is just a way of blowing off steam. Besides, no can deny that Hayden deserves multiple deaths more than most. Still, Violet should probably see if it's true.

"Tate?" she calls, and a moment later he materialises.

"Hey," he says with that happy grin of his.

Violet gets that Tate doesn't know or care why she's summoned him, he's just happy to be with her, and his affection and enthusiasm is akin to that of a puppy. And, just like a puppy, sometimes she finds it overwhelmingly cute and sometimes she thinks it is insufferable. Today she's in a good mood, so it's the former option.

"Hayden says you killed her," Violet says casually, nodding towards the end of the bed for Tate to sit. "Did you?"

"Yeah," Tate answers without hesitation as the bed shifts under his weight.

"Why?" It doesn't really matter, she's only curious.

"She cast doubts on my mental state."

Violet laughs before she can stop herself. It's such a fucked up thing to say, but it's Tate, and that's why she loves -

No. Not going there. Not even thinking it. But she _did_ think it, the unwelcome acknowledgement of lingering love, and now, even though they're on different sides of the bed, Violet feels too close to him. She stands up and presses her still-broken iPod into life, preferring that to how long it would take to turn on her laptop and search for music to play.

"Any plans for Christmas?" Tate asks as Violet, gathering courage, sits back down on her pillows.

"Figured we'd decorate the tree again soon," she replies. "It's lucky that the owners moved out." As predicted, they hadn't lasted long at all. Violet was considering creating a betting pool for when the next owners move in. "Well, not lucky because now we don't have access to their money."

"I made a note of their credit card details," Tate says with a grin. "You know, just in case I needed to buy more tickets or anything."

"Smart," Violet says. Then, because she's bored and because she doesn't really trust herself alone on a bed with Tate: "I haven't seen Beau in awhile. You want to go play?"

"Sure," Tate says, lifting himself off the bed. "He'll be happy to see you, he likes you."

"He likes everyone," Violet says with a soft smile she hardly ever displays. "He's good. Pure. He doesn't belong in this house."

"None of us do," Tate says. He smiles at her. "But I'm glad we're here."

"_And sorrow's native son, he will not smile for anyone…_"

After a moment, she smiles back. This will be their first time playing together with Beau in a long while. Maybe they could even break out the Scrabble and card games later, really conjure up the blasts from the past.

"_I could have been wild and I could have been free, but nature played this trick on me…_"

"Go ahead," she tells him. "There's something I want to get first."

He nods and leaves without question. She can hear the attic ladder drop down and muses that Tate must only have done that because he knows she prefers not to materialise everywhere, the way he usually does. She's surprised his legs still work after so many years of simply appearing and disappearing at will. She still walks and runs and climbs, though. Eternity is long enough, why would she choose time-saving travelling options?

After a quick search of her room, Violet finds the old toy she was looking for. Her grandmother Mary had given it to her many, many years ago and while it still held sentimental value for Violet, she thought that Beau might like to play with it too. She leaves, shutting the door behind her and forgetting to turn off her music.

"_I'm not the man you think I am, and pretty girls make graves…_"


	8. Please Let Me Get What I Want

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any lyrical content in the story. Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, and Steven Morrissey and Johnny Marr are the respective owners.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the late update. You think Murder House is purgatory? Try doctors' waiting rooms. At least no one stood behind me saying "you're going to die in there!"**

* * *

"This is a stupid game," Violet decides after losing three times in a row.

She and Tate are in the attic for the fourth time that week. Beau watches from the shadows, happy and sleepy after an hour of playing "roll the ball" with his brother and the pretty girl, who currently shoves aside the dice and board game and pouts.

"When you won before it was the greatest game in the world," Tate reminds her, grinning. "But okay, we'll play something else."

Violet gets to her feet to rummage through the stack of old games left here by previous families. She likes to think that the owners of these games got out of Murder House before it was too late and had the chance to grow old. She rarely mourns her lost future anymore, and wonders aloud if Tate does.

"You're my future," he says simply. "As long as you're with me, I haven't lost anything."

Violet half-turns so he can see her smile. "What is it they say? Time heals all wounds."

"Time doesn't heal," Tate says. Violet glances at him, surprised by the insistence behind his word. "Time kills. It's up to the individual to heal themselves."

A lesson in pro-activeness from the boy who shot up his school. Violet doesn't think she'll pay too much heed. Besides, she thinks that time has softened her towards the concept of forgiveness, if not "healed" her completely. Still, she likes Tate's alternate view on things. He pushes her into considering other points of view and challenges her like no one else does. He is different from anyone she's ever met and it's this that keeps drawing her back in towards him.

"So, hey, I asked my dad about maybe continuing your therapy sessions," Violet says. She's hesitant about saying it, because Ben had flatly refused, but she wants Tate to know that she is serious about wanting him to rehabilitate himself.

"What did he say?" Tate asks, only a touch of curiosity in his otherwise flat voice. He already knows that Ben has no intention of ever even being in the same room as him.

"To paraphrase? No."

"What was the un-paraphrased version?"

Violet shrugs and goes back to sorting through the games. "A lecture."

She doesn't elaborate and Tate doesn't ask her to. He can imagine the things her father said, probably detailing his shame and disappointment that his daughter would have anything to do with a psychopath. He also knows the strength Violet must possess to brush off all of that and continue to join him in the attic for board games. He loves her for it, and in love you can't be selfish.

"If it's causing tension with your parents, I can back off." Tate can't believe he's saying it even as the words come out of his mouth but it's the right thing to do. "I want you to be happy. It's all I've ever wanted."

The words hang in the air. Tate waits for the agreement he's sure is coming and looks at his hands. Floorboards creak as Violet walks over to him. She crouches down and lifts his chin up. Her lips press against his gently, just for a moment. Then the pressure is gone and Tate is left wondering if he imagined it. He looks at Violet with questions he can't find the courage to ask. She simply looks back at him, and after a moment gets to her feet.

"Want to play chess?" she asks, walking back over to the pile of games.

Neither of them mention the kiss again.

* * *

Does Violet regret kissing him? No. She doesn't believe in regrets (mainly because if she did, they would drown her) and besides, she wanted to. It had been a spur of the moment thing, part reward and part acknowledgement of her continuing feelings. It promised the hope of redemption, and Violet knew that for someone like Tate this could be intoxicating.

As she looks out of her window later that afternoon at the dying sun, Violet has a small smile on her face.

"_Good times for a change. See, the luck I've had can make a good man turn bad…_"

Violet believes in the power of second chances…which is kind of ironic, come to think of it, seeing as her mother's decision to give her cheating husband a second chance led them to the Murder House in the first place, and see how well that had turned out. She had always thought her mother was weak for doling out second, third, fourth chances to someone who would never change. Now though, she got it. Her mom was in love, and that made people do stupid shit. Violet likes to think her dad has changed, that he was worthy of all the do-overs he got, because it means that maybe Tate can truly change as well.

Violet remembers that when she met the Dead Breakfast Club on Halloween, one of the girls had likened her to the women who marry men on Death Row. Violet had watched a documentary on these women once, a very long time ago before she had ever even heard of Westfield High. She remembered being disgusted by the women, with their protestations that their child-murdering husbands were "misunderstood" or that they had seen the error of their ways. Maybe Violet was now among the ranks of the stupid in her belief that the boy she loved could change his ways. You have to be pretty fucked up to love a murderer.

"_So please, please, please let me, let me, let me...let me get what I want this time…_"

She closes her eyes and listens. The lyrics are repeated like a prayer or a spell in the mistaken belief that pleading for something over and over will make it happen. Violet doesn't put any stock into witchcraft, especially after the spectacular failure of the attempted exorcism, but sometimes she wonders if the magic, for want of a better word, that fuels the ghosts of the house can somehow be used for other things. She's sure to have the opportunity to find out sometime in the next eternity, maybe even find a way to escape.

At the moment she is still confined to the house, but for the first time in years she no longer sees it as a punishment to be endured. She has hope and gives hope, and that is more powerful than whatever power the house possesses.


	9. Rubber Ring

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any lyrical content in the story. Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, and Steven Morrissey and Johnny Marr are the respective owners.

* * *

**A/N: Last chapter! Thank you for your reviews!**

* * *

"_The passing of time and all of its crimes is making me sad again…_"

Tate holds her and she lets him, just like on the night she died. So many years have passed since then.

"I love you," he murmurs in her ear.

Violet nods. She knows. She feels it too, and maybe one day she'll be able to say it back. Until then they will both settle for closeness and companionship. The line in their relationship gets pushed back a little each day until one day there will be no restrictions at all. One day she hopes she won't be constantly on guard for him to fuck up again. He says he wants to be a good person and she wants so desperately to believe him, but while she gave him the second chance he had been craving, they both know that it comes with a continuing set of rules. It's a work in progress; there are times when Violet can't stand to look at him, yet there are others where they laugh and love like it is all they've ever done.

After telling Violet that he wanted to redeem herself and spotting the flicker of disbelief in her eyes, Tate had gone to Chad and Patrick and apologised for everything, heartfelt and sincerely. They beat the shit out of him. Afterwards, Violet tended to his wounds, proud that he was trying and promising to support him. The wounds were gone soon enough, of course, but Tate appreciated her help all the same.

Who knows, maybe one day he will be able to decorate the Christmas tree with her and her family, with everything forgiven and forgotten. He isn't counting on it though; it could be pretty fucked up, even by their standards.

Sometimes they take baby Jeffrey off her parents' hands for the afternoon and sit in the garden with him, cooing and blowing raspberries on his tiny stomach. Violet can never do this for very long though; she inevitably thinks of the baby's twin and disappears inside the house for days on end. She knows she'll eventually find a way to deal with this because the fact of it is never going away, but for now she will come to terms with it in her own way.

Tate hates it when she does this. It reminds him that one stupid act for a woman who doesn't even remember him half the time hurt the girl he loves the most. He's disgusted with himself and of course when he is low, Hayden and sometimes Chad and Patrick come to kick him further down. He allows them to when he's punishing himself for hurting Violet, though any other time he will kill them if they carry it on too long.

But there are times when they are happy. They talk late into the night, sometimes with a soundtrack and sometimes without, and then sleep entwined in one another for the whole of the day. They list places they wish to go and even make plans to go to London on Halloween. They reason that they will have enough time to get there and then when Halloween is over they will simply materialise back. Neither of them speak of the illogical aspects of this plan, because to them it means freedom and hope, and also because when they are together they feel they can do anything.

Some dark days they even talk about Tate's past, though never about his time as the Rubber Man. Maybe that topic will be covered one, day but for now it is better left unspoken. Instead they discuss their childhoods. Tate grimaces when he hears how many bones Violet has broken in the name of fearless exploring, and in turn Violet scowls when she hears of the neglect Tate suffered through. She is ashamed to admit it but she's privately glad that Tate has the excuse of child neglect (at the very least) for his actions in later life. She can correlate the two things, point them both out and say _THIS happened because of THIS, and not because deep down he's a bad person_. It doesn't stop her from wanting to rip Constance's smug face off.

Neither of them really know what their future holds. They take eternity one step at a time, one foot in front of the other, and they take it together.

"_A sad fact widely known: the most impassionate song, to a lonely soul, is so easily outgrown. But don't forget the songs that made you smile, and the songs that made you cry…_"

* * *

**Quick explanation on the choice of _Strangeways_ for the title. _Strangeways, Here We Come_ is the fourth and final album by The Smiths (because really, would it be any other band at this stage?) named for Strangeways prison in Manchester, England, where the band (and myself!) are from. Although it has been since renamed, it's notorious and has held many of Britain's infamous criminals. It's located close to the city centre - which I think is a terrible idea but hey, I'm not in charge - and from this I drew parallels with AHS: being so close to freedom and civilisation but being unable to reach it, being trapped or imprisoned, etc. Just a bit of background there, that can be your daily learning quota filled!**

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing/favouriting/following! I have another AHS fic in mind, probably a oneshot but it's still in the planning stages. A couple more Smiths songs I couldn't fit in but absolutely adore are _This Charming Man_, _Bigmouth Strikes Again_, _Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me_ and _How Soon is Now?_ so if you're interested in the band, I'd check those out. Until next time! :)**


End file.
